


Methods of Persuasion

by entanglednow



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Damon makes demands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Methods of Persuasion

  
Damon stops listening half way through Alaric's earnest explanation about the emergency of the moment. He doesn't even feel bad, Alaric's disapproval is a comfortable constant in his world. Honestly, some days it's like they're literally bouncing from one disastrous adventure to the next. This town has completely killed his ability to be surprised. Someone could tell him there was a Kraken in the lake, and he'd just accept it. There's a chance that this is how madness starts.

His non-attention was apparently less than subtle though, because now Alaric's staring at him, and not speaking. Oh, and _there's_ the sigh of disappointment.

Damon throws an arm over the back of the sofa.

"I'm just not in the mood for a crusade right now. Really, really not in the mood."

"This is important." Alaric always makes it sound like he should care. He still doesn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed by that. People should stop having faith in you, if you threw it back in their faces often enough.

"I'd imagine everything is important to _somebody_." Damon shakes his head, untidy lines of hair falling forward over his eyes. "I don't care."

"So you're not going to help?"

Alaric's offensive earnestness isn't going to sway him. No matter how much he furrows his manly brow. Damon has alcohol, that's all he needs right now. He tries to look as lazy and unconcerned as possible.

"No," he says slowly. "No, I'm not going to help. In case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of an asshole."

"Not all the time."

"Asshole is my default setting, and if you were really my friend you'd accept my tendency to not give a shit about things, as much as humanly possible - vampirely possible." He smirks.

"If you were really my friend, you'd help when I want to rescue people who've been kidnapped by dark, mystical forces."

Damon raises an eyebrow at him, because, _really_ , did he really just phrase it like that? Is this really the town they live in? Though, to be honest, he's pretty sure that he _is_ dark, mystical forces.

"Yes," Alaric says with a sigh. "Believe me, I'm aware of how that sounds."

"Someone's always getting kidnapped by dark, mystical forces in this town. To be honest, it's just not that much fun for me any more, and I usually get stabbed."

"Would you prefer that I get stabbed?" Alaric's expression is leaking disappointment like a sieve.

Which is so annoying that Damon decides to keep the part of him that might be - just a little bit - concerned for Alaric's well-being to himself. Instead he makes an undecided noise, puts his feet up on the table.

"Define 'stabbed?' Is this stabbed as in 'minor inconvenience to my day,' or stabbed as in 'I'm losing blood at a frightening rate, and am lurching towards unconsciousness as we speak?'"

Alaric doesn't look amused.

"Fine, you want me to help you save the world, one helpless victim at a time. Take off your clothes."

Alaric's expression goes straight for 'confused.' "What?"

"Take off your clothes. Seriously, I'm just going to cut straight through the 'what's in it for me' this time."

"Are you serious?" Confused shifts quickly into annoyed disbelief.

The more Damon thinks about it the more he likes the idea. "We always do what you want to do. With the rescues, and the damsels, and the fighting mystical forces, blah, blah, blah." Damon empties his glass and pulls the decanter off the table behind him. "We never do what I want to do. We never make me happy, and it's only fair."

"I'm not going to take off my clothes," Alaric says, with all the offended sensibilities he can muster. It turns out he can muster quite a lot.

Damon shrugs, then salutes him with his newly-filled glass. "Then have fun corralling those dark, mystical forces on your own."

Alaric looks so _offended_. "You're serious?"

Damon just smirks at him.

Alaric glares at him for a beat, then grasps the bottom of his t-shirt and strips it over his head, drops it on the floor.

Damon's pleasantly surprised. He knew there was a possibility. Alaric is stubborn and he has been known to pander to Damon's whims, occasionally. Damon likes it when Alaric agrees to pander to his whims. There's a delicious flavour of affront in the way Alaric tugs his boot laces open, and toes off his boots, and socks.

Damon makes an interested noise for effect, which gets him a pause and a scowl.

Alaric drops his hands to his jeans, and they snap open loudly. Noise like an accusation - but Alaric doesn't even pause. One push sends them down his thighs, then to the floor, keys and change giving a jangling thud when they hit. There's a pause, a breath and then he shoves his boxer shorts down too, steps out of it all, and glares.

The glaring is very...bracing. Especially when combined with everything else. Damon is starting to see the appeal of _good deeds._ Alaric crosses his arms - as if that helps anything. It does, in fact pull several muscle groups into sharp relief and Damon doesn't quite know where to look. He can't help but wish that _everywhere_ was an option. Everywhere could win awards. He slowly pulls himself to his feet. Alaric watches him drift closer, liquid swirling under the slow rotation of the glass.

"I didn't sign up for anything but the nudity," Alaric says firmly, when Damon is close enough to reach out and touch - and Damon would very much like to reach out and touch. Restraining himself from doing exactly that is the most his self-control has been challenged for a while. Alaric stays where he is though. He doesn't take a step back. He's smarter than he looks.

"This is _me_ we're talking about here," Damon reminds him, voice liquid and interested. "You figured once I had you naked in my living room I was just going to concede and get my coat?" He laughs. "Really? Have you met me?"

" _Damon._ "

"You really expect me to just do nothing, Rick?" It's funny how his voice does 'quietly threatening' even when he doesn't mean it to.

There's an annoyed huff of air, it sounds impatient, and still just a little bit offended. Threads of embarrassment threatening to leak in. Which is ridiculous because Alaric has nothing at all to be embarrassed about.

"You know me better than that. You can't give me boundaries and then expect me not to push at them."

He expects Alaric to complain that he's not a boundary, or something equally amusing. But he doesn't answer, he's still giving him the 'I kept my part of the bargain, now you keep yours' stare. Who knew, Alaric is still Alaric even when you take his clothes away. Damon's strangely pleased about that.

Damon would barely have to lift a hand to lay it against the Alaric's waist, and he's tempted. Tempted to give Alaric the opportunity to smack it away.

"You really are insane to be friends with me, you know that?" It's a little more honest than he intends. This town, it's teaching him so many bad habits.

Alaric rolls his eyes, loops a hand round the back of Damon's neck and pulls. Damon's surprised enough to let him, which turns out to be a good thing.

Alaric's the one who kisses him, but Damon's the one who takes advantage of it. Because that's what he does. He's the one who takes, with an aggressive sort of enthusiasm, everything on offer, and then pushes for just a little bit more. Scotch spatters the living round carpet, then the glass smacks into the floor after it, so Damon can dig his fingers in Alaric's hair. His other arm ends up slung round Alaric's waist, hand holding more bare skin than he expected. He takes full advantage of the position his hand is currently in, in fact he's pretty sure Rick's going to have bruises where no one can see. Though the only protest he gets is a grunt. 

Damon would very much like to press him back into the expensive panelling, and see if it could withstand their combined enthusiasm. He's strong enough to make it work, strong enough to make it _interesting_. Alaric might even trust him enough to try, after a little persuasion. Just the idea that Alaric would let him do this, in the living room, that apparently this is a thing they can do now, and Alaric had never even told him. Damon's very disappointed that he never told him.

Alaric twists away from his mouth, and Damon catches the low, rumbled 'fuck' that escapes. The way Alaric doesn't try and pull out of his grip. In fact there's a large hand fisted in the back of his shirt now, twisting in the fabric, like it doesn't want to let go. Damon reminds himself that he doesn't need to breathe.

"Will you come now?" Alaric demands, irritated and impatient, and he looks particularly delicious, tousled and stoically ignoring his own arousal. His mouth is still very close, and Damon can't stop looking at it.

"I was working on it," Damon tells him.

" _Damon_."

"Ugh, you're going to be so much hard work," Damon complains.

He goes to find his jacket.

  



End file.
